


The Good Side of Things

by blujamas



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, F/M, Real Life, also no kwami, basically marinette and adrien meet up five years after dropping off of each other's radars, yes hello did someone order adult!adrinette with a side of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blujamas/pseuds/blujamas
Summary: "Why didn't you call?" she asked. Her hand was heavy in his."I tried to," he said, but it sounded like a crap excuse, even to him. But he had no other words, no way to tell her how many times he'd sat staring at his phone, her number imprinted on his fingers. No way to tell her how he'd almost - almost - pressed call every time.But he didn't, and that was the worst thing about it.///





	The Good Side of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ready, Adrien?” she asked when they were on the last step, closing the umbrella and handing it off to an usher dressed in a soft-blue uniform.
> 
> Adrien took one last look at where the Gorilla was driving away from the museum, back down the road they’d come in from, and lamented that it was too late to run back down the stairs and hurl himself back into the car.
> 
> “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, and turned towards the doors, stepping inside.

**It was inevitable, really. All things must come to an end, and all that.**

They promised to keep in touch, but with his photoshoots and her college applications and the consequences of adulthood in general, it was hard to keep up whatever tenuous connection they had to begin with. They’d never been the closest of friends. He’d stuck to Nino, she’d stuck to Alya, but when your best friends were dating each other, it was hard not to get roped up in double not-quite-dates. It was harder to stay away, once he realized that hey, her smile was really cute and hey, her eyes were really pretty and hey, is he _really_ calling her for the third time that afternoon and hey. Just that. Just _hey_ – small and surprised and slightly amused. Hey.

But hey, they hadn’t talked in a while and hey, all their scheduled meet-ups were canceled because of some mishap or another and hey, it’s been a few months maybe I should call her or maybe I shouldn’t—

Hey. They were suddenly strangers.

It’s been years since he’d even said her name out loud, though that hadn’t stopped him from thinking it, over and over like a mantra to keep himself sane through the painstaking effort of pretending to be an adult. Because if something so pure and so joyful like Marinette Dupain-Cheng existed, then he could live through just a little bit more of his father’s demands, interviews where they expected him to smile 99% of the time, and the tedious _click click click_ of a photographer’s camera.

He knew it was unfair to complain. Most teenagers – ehem, _adults_ – his age would kill for a life like this: paparazzi, getting invited to all the best galas, and earning money just by sitting there and looking pretty. But his ideal kind of life would probably be Marinette’s, wherever she was. Living out her dream, being who she wanted to be. He’d always envied her in that sense. She was so sure, so steady of who she was and what she wanted to be. He was confident that she never had days like this one he was having, staring blankly out of a moving car’s window in a suit his father had basically wrestled him into, on his way to a gala or a party or honestly he’d already forgotten what it was he was heading to. Feeling like – like—

Well, frankly, feeling like shit. Feeling like he wanted to pop open the car door he was leaning on and just let gravity or inertia or whatever take hold of him and embrace his fate with the wet pavement. Feeling like he really, _really_ needed to derail his life and find another goddamn train track towards literally anywhere else this current path was headed.

He could see his future, and damn was it bleak.

“Nathalie, please let me have my phone.” Adrien lightly knocked his head against the window, watching the raindrops zip rapidly down the glass. “Please. I’m bored and lonely and spiraling.”

“I’m sorry, Adrien.” She didn’t sound sorry. “But I was given explicit instructions by your father not to hand you your phone until the event was over. Please don’t do that,” she added, indicating the way he slid down his seat, bringing his shoulders up to his ears. “You’ll rumple your suit.”

Nathalie was looking at him from the rearview mirror. Adrien might have been imagining it, but he swore she looked patronizing.

“I don’t need a handler,” he grumbled. “I’m _twenty-four_. I’m not a child anymore.”

Nathalie quirked an eyebrow. “You’re definitely sulking like one.”

Adrien elected to ignore that. “Just give me my damn phone.”

“And then you’ll sneak off in the middle of the launch and hide in the bathroom all night, texting Nino.”

“So we’re going to a launch?”

“Oh, _honestly,_ Adrien.” She _definitely_ looked patronizing now, and a little bit aghast. “Your father has been talking about this launch for weeks. This new designer has really interested him. She’s from China, as far as he knows, and has steadily built a fashion empire there, but she’s recently moved to Paris. This launch is for her Parisian branch here. He’s sending you with the hope of striking a partnership deal with her under Agreste Designs. Get your head in the game, Adrien.”

And so that was how Adrien ended up singing the entire High School Musical soundtrack the rest of the way to the launch.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Marinette, Marinette, Marinette._ He chanted her name like a prayer as the car pulled up in front of a grand museum of some sort, complete with a sweeping marble staircase and elegant double doors thrown open to give him a glimpse of the party already well underway inside. Outside, on the steps of the museum, were the reporters. Of course. An event as big as this was bound to attract some sort of crowd. Latecomers like Adrien were strewn about the courtyard, getting smothered by questions and cameras. They were all looking mildly disgruntled, most probably because the marble was wet and slippery from the earlier rain and because it seemed to Adrien that this launch for this woman seemed like a majorly Big Deal. But because they were models and they were trained to do so, they were all still smiling and nodding politely. Only a fellow model could recognize the strain in the edges of their smiles and the deadness of their eyes.

 _My kin,_ Adrien thought bitterly.

And then: _Marinette, Marinette, Marinette_ – his greatest what if and his greatest motivator. _Smile_ , _Adrien_ , _smile_.

“Are you ready, Adrien?” Nathalie asked.

Adrien adjusted his tie and met her eyes steadily. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied smoothly, the Agreste tried-and-true smile of charm already plastered on his face. “Let’s go woo a designer, Nathalie.”

“You’ll be doing all the wooing, Adrien. I’m just your secretary.”

Nathalie popped her door open and swung her feet out of the car. The rain had stopped falling, but the promise of it still hung heavy in the clouds, so she reached under her seat to grab an umbrella before stepping out into the frenzy. Her only mistake was going out before he did. She was immediately accosted by three reporters. A mic was shoved into her face. Nathalie, unlike Adrien, could afford to look mildly displeased by this.

 _Think happy thoughts, Adrien_. Adrien popped his own door open and stood behind the reporters swarming his secretary, bouncing on the balls of his feet and watching with dark amusement as Nathalie’s face grew more and more upset with every passing question. He _could_ speak up now, but it was too much fun hearing them ask Nathalie for once and not him, about his upcoming photo ops, the dating rumors between him and Lila, his latest interview in magazine so-and-so, wherein he said this-and-that, and his controversial opinion of shoelaces.

“He said, and I quote, ‘I think shoelaces are unnecessary and a hassle,’” one of the reporters was saying. “Is this a foreshadowing of what direction Agreste Designs is taking in regards to men’s footwear?”

“I just don’t like shoelaces,” Adrien said to finally get their attention off of Nathalie, who looked one shoelace-based question away from committing a mass homicide. “Can we leave it at that?”

Over the years, Adrien had gotten some ridiculous questions. His distastes affecting his father’s work? Oh, boy, if only they knew how over-the-top that would be. Gabriel Agreste did whatever he wanted, and Adrien was stuck along for the ride. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He would always be Adrien Agreste, perfect son and perfect model, to the rest of the world. So that was what he was going to be until the world decided they needed a prettier face and a new poster boy for perfection.

And so when the reporters turned to him, excitable and eager, Adrien did his part. The world was a stage, and his role was answering ridiculous questions and looking pretty. Cameras flashed, slight banter was exchanged, lousy comments about the bad weather and his expectations about the launch.

“My expectations?” Adrien glanced at the museum, standing stark-white and impressive against the gray-black sky. “Very high.”

Eventually, Nathalie intervened and led Adrien up the staircase. He shot a meek, apologetic look over his shoulder as Nathalie put a hand on the small of his back and pushed him gently towards the open doors.

In truth, he was relieved beyond measure to leave the reporters behind.

Adrien and Nathalie power-walked up the staircase with matching purposeful strides, desperate to get out of the drizzle. The soft ballad and golden light drifting from the open doors of the museum felt out-of-place in the dark weather and Adrien’s darker mood, but it was welcoming nonetheless.

“Ready, Adrien?” Nathalie asked when they were on the last step, closing the umbrella and handing it off to an usher dressed in a soft-blue uniform.

Adrien took one last look at where the Gorilla was driving away from the museum, back down the road they’d come in from, and lamented that it was too late to run back down the stairs and hurl himself back into the car.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, and turned towards the doors, stepping inside.

Adrien’s breath caught in his throat.

There were arches and grand staircases that presumably led to other parts of the museum, but they seemed to be closed off, and in that moment Adrien couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than the floor beyond the threshold. Chandeliers were spaced evenly about the long stretch of the first floor, casting a warm golden glow that was a nice contrast to the dark swirls of the marble floor. The floor was designed to mimic the night sky, a full length of the darkest and smoothest black, interrupted here and there by vibrant whirlpools of violet galaxies and orange supernovas and sprinkles of white and blue stars. He was right about it being some sort of museum, but the only exhibits on display were the paintings hung on the walls. Where the statues should have been were now tall glass cases, at least forty of them along this hall, displaying what Adrien assumed were the designer’s clothes.  Everything was too much to take it all at once, and the feeling of vertigo was all-consuming, and Adrien had a feeling that whoever this launch was for had a mentality that was akin to _Go big or go home_.

He didn’t realize he was smiling until his cheeks started hurting and Nathalie said, “You look happy.”

“Awestruck,” Adrien corrected with a small shake of his head. “I’ve spent the last seven years of my life traveling, but I don’t think there’s ever been something like this.”

“This is the _Musée_ _de_ _Univers._ It’s undergone this recent renovation as a result of it changing hands, a year ago or so, I think? So it’s relatively new. And very exclusive. But the owner has some sort of relationship with the designer, so he’s allowed her to use it for tonight.”

“I want to hold my funeral here.” Adrien spun on his heels and grinned at Nathalie. “Can you make that happen?”

The smile she gave him was small and sad. “I hope not. I plan on you living for much, much longer.”

“Eh.” Adrien shrugged. “Let’s not get into the specifics.”

Adrien wasn’t the only one who felt the grandness of the universe in that moment. As he looked around, he saw men and women in suits and gowns walk around the room, inspecting the floor or the ceiling, but most especially the dresses displayed within the glass cases. Their eyes were sparkling under the light of the chandeliers, their mouths fixed in grins. For once, Adrien didn’t think they were faking it.

“I’ll take the right wing, you take left?” Nathalie asked, not missing a beat.

Adrien looked curiously at her. “What?”

Nathalie stared back, equally confused. “I’ll look for the designer in the right wing and you in the left. She’ll be the one surrounded by most people. Try your best to ask for a private meeting.”

“Oh.” _Oh_ – Adrien had nearly forgotten that he was at an event, that he had a job to do. That this was just another thing off his to-do list. Another hoop to jump through. But then he took a look around the room, the liveries and the intenseness, and he had a feeling that this one was going to be… well, different. Brand new. “Okay.” More steadily, taking a deep breath, he repeated, “Yeah. Okay. I’ll see you later.”

Nathalie nodded and was gone, blending easily into the crowd of suits and cocktail dresses. Adrien stood at the door for a long moment, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around for someone familiar, something to start with.

And then—

“Adrien?” Alya Césaire’s face rose up from the crowd like a rose blossom blooming in the winter. “Oh my God, it’s been so long!”

That statement was reflected on her face: she – like he did – had outgrown her teenaged softness with rougher, tougher lines. Of course he’d seen pictures of her at twenty-four. Nino didn’t fail to update Adrien on every little thing that happened in their lives. But ever since they’d moved to Palawan three years ago, Adrien hadn’t had the time to fly over and hang out and be a proper best friend to Nino Césaire. Not that he hadn’t tried, but all of his efforts had been systematically crushed by a neverending stream of bookings and interviews and other things until the only way he still kept contact with his best friend was through carefully timed Skype calls and text messages.

 _This night just keeps getting better and better,_ thought Adrien as he raised an arm in greeting and began walking towards his old friend, his jaunty form reflected on the universe-colored floor beneath him.

Alya excused herself from the couple she was talking to, and sauntered over to him, her smile wide and warm. She was wearing a red cocktail dress that was long and flowing at the back and short at the front. There was a specific word for this kind of thing, but Adrien’s admittedly-limited grasp of fashion lingo failed him in that moment as he and Alya simultaneously reached for each other and held on to one another like they’d thought they would never see each other again. It was something that had crossed Adrien’s mind once or twice on his worse days, on his lonelier nights when the world felt too big and the miles felt too long, but all that mattered then were that Alya was _here_ , in Paris, in his arms, and that also meant that Nino wasn’t far behind.

It was forever before either of them were willing to let go. When they did, Adrien was sure he was on the verge of tears. He didn’t know he’d been so starved for the old days until he was given his first taste of it in years.

“I didn’t know you were back.” Adrien beamed. He felt like a star that was about to burst into a supernova.

Alya shrugged. “Well, y’know. Nino and I got a bit homesick. And it is a very special night.”

“And he never told me?” Adrien said with faux-hurt.

Alya laughed. “It was supposed to be a surprise. He was going to head over to your place after the launch, but I guess you saved us the trip. I told him you would be here, Great Adrien Agreste and all that, but he was convinced that by some infortune accident, you wouldn’t be able to make it. He’s been very paranoid lately. Must be sympathy emotion since I’m a few weeks in.”

“You’re _pregnant?_ ”

“Another surprise I just ruined.” Alya grinned. “Just pretend to be shocked when Nino tells you, okay?”

“Alright, alright, but _you’re pregnant?_ ” There was a need for it to be reinstated. Adrien felt all too ready to collapse. “Congratulations! I’m so – Is it weird to say I’m proud?”

“Definitely. Just say you’re happy.”

“I’m _overjoyed_.”

“You have no idea how hard it was for Nino to keep this from you.” 

“Where _is_ Nino?”

“Probably somewhere…” She looked around the massive room. “His attention was snagged by the many wonders here. Most probably the buffet table.”

“I didn’t think this was his sort of thing,” Adrien admitted, looking around at all the jewels and the expensive cloths. He was almost ashamed of it, and he felt every inch of his privileged life like an itchy second skin. “He’d always been vocal about his displeasure of the indelicacies of modern expenditures.” So was Adrien, minus the vocal part.

Alya snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Did he have a change of heart?”

Alya gave him a look. _The_ Look – a look he’d missed without even knowing he’d missed it, something he hadn’t realize was gone until it was there again like a small surprise. She looked at him like he baffled her, like he was a species she couldn’t quite understand. “Did no one tell you?” she asked.

Adrien cocked his head to the side, proving the Look’s point. “Huh?”

“Oh, Christ.” Alya’s grin was Machiavellian. If they’d been younger and Adrien had not gotten his intense growth spurt, this would’ve been Alya’s cue to sling her arm over his shoulder. Instead, she wrapped her arm around his torso and led him away from the door and through the shifting crowds of silk and polyester. “I think you’re up for another surprise, right?”

Adrien peered at her curiously, but Alya had that gleam in her eyes that told him he wasn’t getting any answers until she decided it was time to. So Adrien walked as quickly as he could to match Alya’s purposeful strides, all the while smiling apologetically and mumbling incoherently to business-familiar faces that stopped to greet him. Alya didn’t give them the time of day and continued weaving through the crowd like a woman on a mission.

Eventually they reached one of the archways that was clearly meant to be closed off by the black velvety curtain over it. Without preamble, Alya pushed the curtain aside with her free hand and shoved Adrien in with the other.

The circular side-room inside was fairly small, with a few Asian portraits hanging around a sitting place with only two people occupying it: a man in a white suit sitting immediately across Adrien, and a woman whose back was to them. They sounded deep in conversation, but then the man caught Adrien and Alya standing at the door and stopped mid-sentence when they came in, and the woman turned, intrigued by the sudden interruption.

And then the universe fell away right from under Adrien’s feet.

Alya’s voice was an echo from somewhere far, far away when she said, knowingly, “Adrien, may I present to you the lady of the evening, Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAH I know I have other unfinished works but this story has been slowly clawing away at my mind for months and it needed to be told. thanks for reading xoxo
> 
> ((all titles are lyrics from Troye Sivan's song "The Good Side"))


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